


try your hand

by gdgdbaby



Series: past, present, future [1]
Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Fisting, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Skype Sex, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 12:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14308398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gdgdbaby/pseuds/gdgdbaby
Summary: "Put another finger in him," Tommy says, trying to keep his voice steady.





	try your hand

**Author's Note:**

> written for [this prompt](https://podsavethekink.dreamwidth.org/659.html?thread=8595#cmt8595) on the kink meme, which asked for lovett getting fisted; cleaned up here.

"Put another finger in him," Tommy says, trying to keep his voice steady.

It's hard to see everything through the grainy lens of a webcam, but he's been making do. At the beginning of the evening, Jon propped his iPad against the back of a chair he pulled up next to the bed, so this is about as good as Tommy's going to get: the strong slope of Lovett's back in view, and Jon bent over him, his slender, clever fingers curled up inside Lovett.

Jon sends him a look through the camera, dribbles more lube against Lovett's hole, and twists three fingers past Lovett's rim. Lovett squirms and sighs, pushing his face further into the pillows and rocking back against Jon's hand. "That's it," Tommy says, the words scratching out of his throat. Not for the first time tonight, Tommy wishes he weren't stuck in fucking San Francisco, that he was eight hours south and could see everything in person.

His lease is up in a couple months, though, and then—then he won't have to just take weekends down when he can, live out of Jon's guest bedroom and rack up Delta miles. Soon, he'll be able to do all the touching he wants, whenever he wants.

Jon's murmuring quietly against Lovett's spine; he brushes his mouth against Lovett's lower back as he fucks slowly into him with his fingers. A side effect of Skype sex means Tommy can't quite make out the soft rumble of his words, but the familiarity of the sound makes the hair on the back of Tommy's neck prickle, and his own dick, neglected until now, twitches in his pants. He licks his palm, quick and dirty, and slides it past the waistband of his boxers.

Lovett comes up for air, glances over his shoulder, curls damp and matted against his forehead, and gasps, "Just fuck me already."

"No," Tommy says, before Jon can even move. "No, I wanna—I want to try something different today." He licks his lips, watching as Jon flexes his fingers and Lovett lets out a keening cry against his own knuckles. "Add your pinky, Jon," he says, and the dawning light of comprehension washes over Jon's face as he complies. It takes Lovett another long moment to get it, while he tries to recover from Jon thrusting four fingers up inside him, slick and loud.

"Tommy," Lovett says, wrenched out of him, small hands scrabbling through the sheets, eyes wide, spine arched. "Tommy, I can't."

"If you can take me, you can take Jon's fist," Tommy says, pitched low and soothing. That hasn't happened in a while, to be fair; he hasn't pushed himself inside Lovett, sheathed to the hilt, in weeks, but Tommy's riding high on arousal and conviction, and he believes in Jon's skill, in Lovett's desire. "You can, alright? Trust me."

Jon leans in to kiss Lovett's back again, and Lovett slumps forward, face crushed in the pillow. He lets out a muffled sob, hips bucking against Jon's hand, knees bracing harder against the bed. It's answer enough.

"Wish I could be there to see this," Tommy sighs. Jon squeezes more lube out across the heel of his hand, drenches his wrist and his thumb. Tommy's ears ring a little as Jon keeps working Lovett open, patient and sure and methodical. Jon's always taken direction well, and he knows how to tease just enough to make Lovett desperate for it. Watching him work is like staring at a painting, at art; being able to tell him what to do has always felt like a privilege.

Tommy hisses as he jacks himself faster, bucking up into the circle of his fingers. Jon's eyes flicker over at him and then back at Lovett. "Lovett," he says, brushing his other palm down the flank of one trembling thigh. "Tell me if it's too much, okay? I'll go as slow as you want." Tommy takes a deep breath and holds it as Jon's thumb brushes against the edge of Lovett's hole. Jon's wrist twists as he eases the tip of it in, and Tommy exhales slowly with the steady push, fingers tight around the base of his own erection.

Lovett doesn't tell him to stop. He seems to have lost the ability to do much but shudder against the bed, which is what Tommy had hoped for. Seeing Lovett like this, flushed and gorgeous, is a privilege, too; only the worthy are allowed all the way past Lovett's barriers, into the inner sanctum.

Jon eases Lovett back at an angle so Tommy can see better. Tommy swallows thickly as Jon pushes all the way in past the last knuckle, till all Tommy can focus on is the way Lovett's squeezing around Jon's hand, the little hitches of his body as he twitches back into it.

"Look at you, you're stretched so fucking wide," Tommy says, awed, and can't stop himself from moving his own hand again, trying to go as slow as possible. He doesn't want to come too soon, wants to stay dangling on the edge of release as long as he can. It's an exercise in futility, Tommy knows, but it's still worth the effort. "Jesus, Lovett. Jon's moving you around like a sock puppet."

Lovett lifts his head with effort and chokes out a laugh, breathless. Jon throws Tommy an amused look. "Evocative," he says, and half-turns his wrist.

"That's a—that's a terrible analogy," Lovett gasps. "You're the worst."

"Mm," Tommy says, the corner of his mouth lifting. Whatever. He wasn't the speechwriter.

Jon's fucking gently into Lovett with—fuck, with his entire hand now, and Lovett groans loudly. Jon has to hold him in place with his other hand to keep him from thrashing too much; even that is gentle, his fingers digging into the round part of Lovett's hip, thumb sweeping across his skin. Tommy's spine is tingling, his skin prickling and stomach going tight as he hurtles toward orgasm, and he manages to get out, "I'm coming," half a beat before he actually does, spilling hot over his knuckles.

He's just blinking past the pulse of pleasure in his gut when he hears Lovett come on a shout; Jon's twisted his free hand beneath Lovett, and it's too dark to tell for sure, but Tommy's pretty certain he strokes Lovett through it, even as his body sags forward against the bed. Jon fishes his hand out from underneath Lovett's stomach, after, and tries his best to lick it clean, tonguing between his fingers in a way that would be too ridiculously obscene from anyone else. From Jon, it just makes Tommy's spent dick twitch valiantly, even though it would be impossible for him to get back in the game so soon.

Saliva and the remnants of Lovett's jizz ease the way as Jon jerks himself off, and his face twists up when he comes all over Lovett's lower back, panting hard, skin damp and golden. His fist is still tucked up inside Lovett, like it belongs there, and the intimacy of it makes Tommy's rib cage feel tangled tight around his heart. Tommy breathes, in and out, and tries not to yearn too much.

Jon finally eases his hand out after a long moment, and Lovett lets out one last wrecked sound as Jon's fingers slip from him. "Show me," Tommy manages, and Jon obligingly reaches over to pick up the iPad, flips it around so that Tommy can see. Lovett's so fucked out and loose, and he shivers as Jon trails a hand down the length of his back. Lovett's going to feel that tomorrow. Maybe he won't even be able to sit properly—not that he ever does. It's probably bad to find that charming, but Tommy's too far gone at this point that it doesn't even register anymore. All he can think is: _good_.

 

 

"When are you gonna move down here already?" Lovett complains later, drowsy, after Jon's nudged both of them beneath a clean, dry sheet, and Tommy's wiped himself off with the shirt he'd discarded earlier.

"It's in the works," Tommy says, and returns the small smile Jon sends him. _Soon_ , he thinks. _Not soon enough, but soon._ He drifts off to the sound of their breathing.


End file.
